He loves wine; she loves fashion.

Perfect bicycling backpacks.

So yesterday, getting home from work on my bike with all of my goods in tact posed a bit of a challenge. And not because I was riding into a street with a scarf over my face. [That was the day before yesterday. Don’t ask.]

Rob’s personal tasting flight from Seghesio arrived at the office and I couldn’t fit that, my purse, my empty coffee thermos, and my laptop into the tiny backpack he’s let me borrow for my commute. [N.B. the backpack, while very chic for a 17-yr-old snowboarder I’m sure, features one of those naked lady mudflap silhouettes on it with huge boobs and Farrah Fawcett feathered layers. But I don’t complain.]

In a bottomless-budgeted daydream, I’d be in the market for one of these babies:

Orvis, Mulholland—feel free to send one of these along, chaps. I promise to take the extra long route to work to show it off; possibly tow a streamer behind me with your website on it à la those rinky-dink planes that trail the Will You Marry Me banners behind them over heavily populated shorelines.